by Kate Hewitt
“So you came…?”
“Yes. I came. And I found you.”
“But you never even spoke to me…” I practically whimpered.
“I didn’t know how. You looked so different… so clean. And I was…” He shook his head helplessly.
Tears gathered in my eyes.
“But why Laura?” I whispered. “Why did you shoot her, Petar?” I could hardly believe I was asking such a question.
He shook his head again, tears spilling down his weathered cheeks. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I saw her touching you… grabbing you, pushing you…”
“What!” I could not believe it, until I remembered that awkward little dance we’d done, the morning Laura had left, how she’d moved me out of the way. She’d held onto my shoulders, and I’d been a little surprised by the physicality of it, and yet…
Who could have ever anticipated this?
“For that, you shot her?” I demanded, and Petar shrugged.
“For everything. You deserved more, Maria, you deserved so much more. And I was able to do nothing…” He let out a choked cry.
“But that doesn’t have anything to do with Laura West.” I stared at him hopelessly, because none of it mattered anymore. Who knew what had gone through my brother’s shattered mind when he’d seen Laura manhandling me, what torturous memories that moment had stirred? Who knew what twisted and terrible logic had led him to shoot a woman he’d never even known?
The man in front of me was not my brother. The man in front of me was a broken wreck, any semblance of the brother I knew beaten out by cruelty and suffering, by the things that had been done to him as well as the things he had done.
And yet he’d killed Laura. Even now, with everything he had said, everything that had happened, I struggled to believe it.
“How could you do such a thing to an innocent woman?” I whispered.
“No one is innocent.” And then he began to weep, great, heaving sobs that tore from his chest and made people pause and look before hurrying on.
“Petar…” I reached one hand out to him, but I could not touch him. “Petar, you must turn yourself into the police.”
“The police?” He lifted his head, his face tear-streaked, his eyes blazing. “You want me to give myself up?”
“You killed an innocent woman.” My voice trembled. “She didn’t deserve to die, you had no reason to do anything to her at all.”
“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, as if that made it better.
“They will find you anyway,” I persisted. “They already have photographs of you, from cameras… they know when you entered the country…”
Petar shook his head, again and again, back and forth. “No. No.”
“Petar, please. For my sake. The police think I am connected with you. They have asked me questions—”
“You had nothing to do with it, Maria. They must know this.”
“She didn’t deserve to die!” My voice rose, and someone looked over. I lowered it, drawing closer to Petar. “Please.”
“Do you know what they will do to me if they find me?”
“This is not Bosnia, Petar. This is not Syria.”
“I’ll go to prison—”
“And isn’t that what you deserve?” I cried.
Petar drew back. “Is that what you think? After Vojno? After everything?”
“If you don’t go to prison, then how can any of the men who tortured you? How can there be justice for one and not the other?” We both knew how few war criminals had been brought to justice over the years. How everyone wanted to look away, because it was easier. Because it was over.
“It’s different, Maria—”
“But you killed her.” Tears were running down my cheeks. “She was nobody to you. She was innocent. She had three little girls—” I stopped, because I realized I did not want Petar to know about Laura’s girls.
Petar bowed his head. “I am sorry. I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is true.”
“Then tell the police that. Perhaps, considering your history, they will go lightly on you…”
“Lightly.” He sneered the word. I stared at him despairingly.
“Where are you staying, Petar?” I asked. I did not know if I asked because I cared, or because I wanted information. My mind felt like a tangle, a hopeless knot. “Are you safe?” I continued. “Do you have a place to sleep?”
“As if I’d tell you.” He stepped back from me then, and it felt like a chasm opening between us, one that would never be crossed. He stood two feet away from me, but I knew he was already gone.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Petar.”
“I only wanted to see you,” he said. “Just once. Just so you’d know.”
“Know what?”
“That I am sorry. For all of it.” His face contorted as he drew a ragged breath. “God help me.” And then he was half-stumbling, half-walking away from me, and I stared at him, the remnant of the torn bag still clutched to my chest, as he disappeared down the street.
I didn’t call out. I didn’t say a word. And after what felt like an age, I turned and walked back around the corner, into the apartment building, and up to where Alexa waited for me.
“What took you so long?” she demanded as I came in the house. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed, her body nearly vibrating with tension. When I spoke my voice was calm.
“There was a line.”
“What?” Alexa stared at me incredulously.
It took me several stunned seconds to realize I was still speaking in Bosnian.
“A line,” I said in English. “There was a line.”
“You didn’t even buy anything,” she scoffed, still looking so suspicious, and I glanced at the bit of bag I was still holding.
“The bag split. The apples rolled into the gutter. I didn’t want to go back.” I turned away from her, bracing my hands on the counter as I took several deep breaths, willing myself not to break down. Not to let that scream out.
A silence ticked on and on, like a rope being drawn tighter and tighter.
“Figures,” Alexa said quietly, and then she walked out of the room.
Twenty-Seven
Nathan
I was full of such optimism that week. Such determination and hope. On Wednesday evening after work, I took the girls to the hardware store on York Avenue and let them pick out paint colors; Ruby wanted pink, Ella wanted green.
“We can’t have a pink living room,” Ella said. “It’s too babyish.”
“Pink is not babyish.”
I smiled at Alexa, willing her to join in. “What do you think, Alexa?”
She glanced at us all, standing there in the paint aisle with a rainbow of sample cards behind us, as if only noticing us now for the first time. “What? Oh, I don’t care.”
I frowned, because she sounded as if she really didn’t care, not her usual determined-to-be-indifferent routine.
“I thought you didn’t like the apartment the way it was,” I said lightly. “Aren’t you glad we’re finally doing something about it?”
She shrugged and walked off a little bit. I tried not to feel hurt, and more importantly, not to feel annoyed. I wasn’t going to go down that tired old route anymore.
“All right, girls,” I said cheerfully as I turned back to Ella and Ruby. “Let’s try again. What about that nice sage green for the living room, and the pale rose for the dining room?”
“See,” Ruby said, glee audible in her voice. “Pink is not babyish.”
Alexa was quiet on the way home, a different, more thoughtful type of silence than her usual resolute sulk. I fell into step beside her, Ruby holding my hand, Ella walking a little bit behind.
“Back to school next week,” I said, trying for an upbeat tone, and she just shrugged. I hadn’t yet confronted her about the smoking and, more importantly, the boys. I was waiting for the right moment even as I realized it probably would never come. I had to make it. “Alexa… we should
talk.”
The sudden look she threw me was surprised, even frightened. “What about?”
“About the suspension,” I clarified gently. “And the reason for it.”
“Oh.” She sounded strangely relieved. “That.”
“Yes, that.” Annoyance crept into my tone and I strove to moderate it. “Very much that. I’m not angry, Alexa, but I am concerned about the ways you are trying to cope with what happened—”
She shook her head. “Dad, please don’t. You’re just embarrassing yourself.”
“Then I’ll embarrass myself.” I quickened my stride to match hers, pulling Ruby along. “Now is not the time, but I just want you to know there’s a conversation ahead of us, and I want it to be a good one.”
“Whatever,” Alexa muttered, and walked faster. I let her go, because I was out of ideas about what to say and in any case poor Ruby’s little legs couldn’t go any faster.
The next afternoon, I met Sarah from the support group for coffee downtown, near both of our offices. I was still determinedly buoyant, telling her all my plans.
“I feel like I’m finally doing something,” I said as we huddled over our lattes, a chilly breeze gusting into the tiny café every time the door opened. “Talking to my father-in-law… even painting the living room. I’m finally doing this.” I smiled at Sarah, only to register that she was looking at me with a sympathetic sort of pity. “What?”
“I’m so happy for you, Nathan,” she said. “Truly.”
“But…?” Because there was obviously a but.
“But just keep in mind that this is another stage,” she said after a moment. “It’s not the end. You’re not finished with grief.”
“I know that.” I was stung by her words even as I recognized the truth of them. I wanted to be done with grief. I wanted to move on; I wanted to feel joy. I didn’t want to forget Laura, of course I didn’t, but I wanted to remember her a little less.
“It’s just, I’ve been where you are,” Sarah said gently. “You feel like you’ve passed a hurdle. You start looking towards the future, and it feels good.”
“Yes.” My cheeks were warm; I was embarrassed. I’d been practically bragging about my progress.
“And it is good. It’s an important step. But that’s what it is—a step.”
“I know—”
“Don’t be surprised if next week, or next month, or even tomorrow, you find yourself back where you started, or even in a worse place. Six months on and the grief can feel even fresher than it did at the start. I’m not trying to be a downer, really, I’m not. I suppose I just wish someone had given me the warning.”
“Right.” The thought of ending up in a worse place than where I’d already been appalled me. I didn’t think I could survive that.
“I’m sorry.” She grimaced an apology. “I think I am being a downer. Never mind me. I’ve had a bad week.”
“You have?” I felt guilty for going on about my own upbeat mood. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, which is so annoying. Will is actually doing okay in school, work is good. Nothing’s gone wrong, and yet a few days ago I felt as if the wheels were coming off.” She gave a shaky laugh and took a sip of her coffee; I could see that she was near tears.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I suppose I thought you had it all together.” I tried for a smile. “I was looking forward to when I was more like you.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“No, you haven’t. Not at all.” I shook my head. “I know I’m being unrealistic about all of this. I just want to see an endpoint, something to work towards.”
“I know.”
“And there isn’t one, is there?”
She smiled sadly. “I haven’t found it yet. But in the meantime… enjoy the little things, Nathan. Painting your living room. Seeing Ruby smile. Whatever it is… enjoy it.”
I nodded slowly. I felt, strangely, both heavier and lighter from our conversation. “Thanks for giving me the heads-up,” I said finally, even though it wasn’t something I’d wanted to hear.
* * *
On Friday, with the girls out of school for the long weekend, I took the day off and we started stripping wallpaper from the dining room. It was easy; the faded paper with its old-fashioned pattern of cabbage roses was already hanging off in long, curling peels in some places. I couldn’t believe I’d let it go this long.
“Can we really do this, Daddy?” Ruby asked as she gave one of the peels a cautious tug. “Because Mommy always said not to pull on it, or we’d make it worse.”
“She told me once that maybe we should,” Ella said with a hearteningly mischievous grin. “She said then maybe you would do something about it.”
“Ouch.” I smiled at them to show them I didn’t mind. “Well, I think Mom was right. I should have done something about this ages ago.” I forced myself past the inevitable regret. “But we’re all doing it now. Together.”
“Whee!” Ruby gave the strip of wallpaper a hearty tug, and it came away from the wall with a flurry of dried paste and flakes of plaster.
“That’s the way, Ruby,” I encouraged. “Do it again.”
With a squeal of delight, she stood on her tiptoes and pulled again, the wallpaper coming away from the wall with a loud rip and another puff of plaster dust and dried paste.
“You too, Ella,” I encouraged. “Come on. Let’s get into this.”
I reached for a curling edge of wallpaper high up on the wall and felt the satisfaction of it pulling away easily, leaving bare, old wall. It would need a lot of work to be ready to be painted, but I was up for the job.
“Alexa?” I called.
She was standing in the doorway, her arms folded, a remote expression on her face. What, I wondered for what felt like the thousandth time, would it take to reach her? Crack that impossible shell?
“Come on, Alexa,” Ella implored softly. “It’s fun.”
“Okay, fine.” She sauntered forward and half-heartedly tugged at a piece of wallpaper. It came away only a little bit.
“Give it a bit more oomph,” I advised and Alexa threw me an indecipherable look before pulling harder. A faint smile flickered across her face as the strip of wallpaper came away in her hand. “Oh. Gross. What is all this dried yellow stuff?” she exclaimed as she dropped the thing.
“It’s old paste. This wallpaper has probably been on these walls for about seventy-five years.” For a moment we were silent, absorbing the longevity of it, and then with a grin, Ruby seized another piece. I laughed out loud. “That’s the spirit!”
Soon enough the air was full of dust, and I opened the window to let in the air as the floor became littered with long strips of old paper.
“It’s going to look so pretty,” Ruby exclaimed. “Can we start painting now, Daddy?”
“Sorry, Rubes. I have to prepare the walls first. But keep peeling.”
I looked around for Maria, surprised to realize she wasn’t here with us. I poked my head into the kitchen and saw her sitting at the little table by the window, her hands cradled around a cup of tea.
“Maria? Won’t you come join us?”
Her head jerked up as if she’d been startled, and for a second I thought I saw panic in her eyes. I took a step forward.
“Maria?”
“No, no, you go ahead.” She fluttered her fingers. “You are having so much fun.”
“You can be part of it, too.”
“Come on, Maria,” Ella said as she appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It’s fun.” Her eyes were alight as she added, “It feels like you should get in trouble but you don’t.”
Maria gave Ella a strained smile. “That sounds pretty good to me.”
“Come on, then.” I held out a hand and she rose from the table, taking her tea to the sink. “Is everything all right?” I asked quietly. “You seem a bit…” I paused, unsure how she did seem. Worried? Distracted? Unhappy?
“I am fine.” She turned to me with a brighter smile, but I cou
ld still see the crow’s feet of strain by her eyes. “Fine,” she said again and walked into the dining room.
Alexa threw her a sharp look as she came into the room, and I wondered if that was what this was about. Was Alexa still angry about the slap? I’d been meaning to sit us all down for a talk, but it hadn’t happened yet, another moment I would have to make.
“Where should I…?” Maria began, and I gestured grandly to the tattered wallpaper.
“Take your pick.”
She tugged on a thin strip, half-heartedly, and it came away, revealing a sliver of yellowed wall. “There.”
“Do some more, Maria,” Ruby called. “Watch me!”
Ruby leaped up high to catch the top, ragged edge of a strip of wall paper and then pull it, satisfyingly, all the way to the bottom.
“Very good, Ruby,” Maria said with a smile and a nod. “Already this room looks better.”
We kept at it for another hour, until the walls were mostly clear, and I used a scraper to get the stuck bits off.
“Can we do the living room next?” Ruby asked eagerly, and I laughed and shook my head.
“One room at a time, Rubes. Otherwise we’ll be living in complete chaos.”
“I should make dinner…” Maria, having been pretty quiet the whole time, edged towards the kitchen.
“Why don’t we have takeout?” I suggested. “To celebrate being rid of this wallpaper.”
“Pizza!” Ruby cried. “Can we please have pizza?”
“I think that sounds like a good idea.”
“If you’re sure,” Maria said. She did not sound entirely pleased. I really needed to get us all to sit down and talk. Part of me dreaded the conversation, even as I recognized its necessity.
“I’ll call for pizza,” I said. “What topping does everyone want?” I glanced around, noticing that Alexa had made an exit without me realizing. When had she gone? I still had her phone, so I knew she couldn’t be on that, so where was she? And why didn’t she want to be with us?
I found her in her room, huddled on her bed, picking at a ragged fingernail as she stared into space.
